


Keep Going, Together

by frobster



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21798979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frobster/pseuds/frobster
Summary: Clint's job wears him down. Pietro picks him back up.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Pietro Maximoff
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Keep Going, Together

Clinton Francis Barton was known for his sharp eye, both with a bow and with people. He could spot people's tells, their nervous tics, their bullshit poker faces. It was so easy to string them along like an arrow getting notched as he pulled taut, never faltering for a moment. The final release was his favorite - when the plan came to fruition and the shock on their faces showed how perfectly he had laid it all out. He didn't become a feared mercenary for nothing.

While Hawkeye rarely ever worked with anyone, there was a person he allowed to assist him sometimes. The kid was quick on his feet and with his tongue, speedy and witty in ways that eased Clint's frustrations rather than add to them. Pietro Maximoff was casual, cool in every meaning of the word, and his sly grin could make even the most hardened of criminals nervous.

Getting hired was never an issue. People had endless problems and endless money, and Clint capitalized on that. Sometimes he exacerbated problems in the dark, spreading rumors and sparking rivalries just to stir up trouble. It amused him when he felt bored, when that restlessness crept into him and he felt dissatisfied with the world.

Between jobs, Clint would stretch out in his apartment. It was actually a very nice place but he rarely went through the effort of cleaning it so it tended to look like a trash heap. He would lounge on his couch, his $6,000 leather couch with brass finishings and hand-carved wooden legs, and stare at the ceiling as take-out containers piled up around him.

And sometimes, during these lulls where Clint rarely moved at all, Pietro would come by. Quicksilver would rush around the apartment cleaning things up, throwing things out, putting things back where they belonged. The archer rarely ever reacted. He would stare at the ceiling, letting his numbness and guilt immobilize him, as the younger man tended to a residence that wasn't his.

"You know, old man, you should really take better care of yourself," came an accented voice with a hint of snark and maybe an undercurrent of something else too.

Clint didn't reply. The couch was clean by then so he stretched out further with a yawn, pointedly not looking at Pietro.

"Yourself, your apartment, your bow." The bow had been sitting on the floor rather than hanging on the wall where it should. Pietro returned it to its rightful place with care and reverence, knowing how important it was to Clint.

Still no reply. Not even a sigh or a grunt to show that Clint was listening. Pietro knew he was, but it still annoyed him.

"You'll lose your edge if you keep letting yourself slip." Pietro sat on the floor by Clint's head, his silver hair catching and reflecting the light enough to draw the archer's attention.

But still, he continued to be stubborn. "Zero fucks given. Next," he grumbled.

Pietro sighed and lifted up on his knees to press a kiss to Clint's head. The casual affection still made him flustered, his blank expression cracking slightly as he blushed. 

"I've got a few more ideas if you want to keep crossing them off," Pietro said with a smirk, the same one that made so many people nervous and instead had the opposite effect on Clint.

Finally sitting up, Clint shook his head with a small smile and framed the smaller man between his legs. They shared a look for a moment, both daring the other to do something.

"Zero. Fucks. Given," Clint enunciated with an amused look. "Next."

Pietro's smirk became dangerous, teasing, willing to take on any dare. He surged forward to press a heated kiss to Clint's mouth as he shuffled closer to the couch. If Clint wouldn't cheer up with words, Pietro had plenty of other tricks up his sleeves.

Or, down his pants.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr @frobster to yell about these boys!!
> 
> My main is @scribbliidoo so I follow back from there.


End file.
